Lonesome Road (14 page)

Civilized life is at the mercy of its own routine. Whatever may be happening in a household, breakfast, lunch, tea and dinner follow one another inexorably. Birth, marriage, divorce, meetings, partings, estrangements, love, hate, suspicion, jealousy, battle, murder, and sudden death— through all these comes the sound of the domestic bell or gong, with its summons to eat and drink. Whether you die tomorrow or today, another meal is served.

Rachel Treherne paused at Caroline’s door, heard no sound, and followed the Wadlows downstairs. She was glad to concern herself with ordering a tray to be sent up, and when she turned to the room again discovered that there would have to be two trays. Mabel had disappeared, and Ernest, with reproach in eye and voice, informed her that an attack of palpitations was imminent, and that he had taken it upon himself to insist upon a recumbent position and perfect quiet.

“She over-taxes her strength. We should not have allowed her to excite herself. She will be prostrated for the rest of the day. Yes, certainly some lunch—her strength must be maintained. Light and nutritious food at very frequent intervals, and she should never be thwarted or allowed to over-tax her strength—those are the exact expressions used by Dr. Levitas. No one has understood Mabel’s constitution as he did. I blame myself, but I cannot exonerate you, Rachel—no sisterly kindness, no attempt to calm her, no concern about her health.” All this in low, agitated tones, with a nervous polishing of the pince-nez and small fidgeting movements.

Actually, the arrival of Ella Comperton was a relief. Ella’s range of subjects, from leper colonies to slums, might not be ideal as table topics, but they were at least preferable to a discussion of Mabel’s health and the unsisterly harshness with which she had been thwarted in her maiden attempt at forgery.

Richard and Cosmo both came in extremely late. Richard cut himself a plateful of cold beef and ate it in silence. Cosmo, on the contrary, made an excellent lunch and was in quite his best vein—social anecdotes, art gossip, the Surrealist exhibition in Paris. The flow was easy and continuous, and Rachel blessed him in her heart. She never felt fonder of Cosmo than when she had just refused him. No scowls, no sulks, no lowering of the social temperature. Not like poor Richard. What had gone wrong between him and Caroline? Some stupid little thing. Lovers did quarrel about stupid little things. It couldn’t be anything more. It—couldn’t—be—anything—worse—

She jerked her thoughts away and heard Cosmo say,

“Nightmare, not art, my dear Miss Silver.”

Miss Silver crumbled her bread.

“I speak under correction of course—but is it not the aim of the Surrealists to present those ideas which are commonly submerged in the unconscious mind?”

Cosmo laughed.

“And very unpleasant minds they must have, if the ideas are a fair sample.”

Miss Silver gave a slight cough.

“Just a little like the Day of Judgment, if I may say so without irreverence—the secrets of all hearts being opened.” She continued to crumble the bread. “If our thoughts—our intimate, secret thoughts—were to take shape and stand before us now, I wonder what we should think of them.”

Cosmo smiled his most genial smile. It was turned upon Rachel.

“You at least would be safe, my dear. I can imagine that your thoughts would make charming pictures.”

Rachel felt an almost physical pang. “My thoughts? Oh, God!” There was a horrified moment when she wondered if she had spoken the words aloud. Her thoughts— fear, suspicion, agony, resentment, terror—how dreadfully might these take shape.

Cosmo was still leaning to her and smiling.

“Singing birds and lilies, my dear.”

Ernest Wadlow straightened his pince-nez.

“It is an interesting theory. I remember discussing it with Dr. Levitas. He compared the balance of Mabel’s mind, I remember, to a chime of silver bells. She was very much pleased with the image. We both thought it a very apt one. The least disturbing element, and the delicate tuning suffers. I remember quoting Shakespeare’s ‘Sweet bells jangled out of tune.’ ”

Ella Comperton fixed him with an offended stare.

“Good heavens, Ernest—what will you say next? That was Ophelia, and she was mad. There has never been any madness in our family.”

Richard Treherne pushed back his chair, excused himself briefly, and went out. Rachel, listening, heard him go up the stair. Ernest was still talking, but she had lost the thread. Her mind seemed to have closed, and what came through was meaningless sound which made no sense.

The telephone bell rang, and she got up to answer it with relief. With the receiver at her ear, she heard Cherry’s light laugh, like the echo of a laugh from a very long way off.

“That you, Rachel? I haven’t a minute. I’m speaking from a perfectly foul call-box right off the map. There’s a village, but I don’t know what it’s called.”

The familiar desire to box Cherry’s ears restored Rachel to her normal self. She said quite sharply,

“What are you doing there?”

“My dear, what does one do in a call-box? I’m telephoning. It smells of paint and shag.”

“What do you want?” said Rachel.

The light laugh came along the wire.

“My dear—how practical! Well, I thought the parents would like to know that Bob and I were married this morning. The most expensive sort of special licence—to make up for no bridesmaids. And tell Mummy it was in a church, because Bob’s Aunt Matilda would have altered her will if it had been a register office—at least Bob said she would, so I gave in.”

“Cherry, do you really mean all this?”

“ Absolutely. Tell Mummy to save all fits for the divorce.”

Rachel hung up and came back to her place. She addressed Ernest in a perfectly expressionless voice.

“Cherry has married Bob Hedderwick. You had better let Mabel finish her lunch before you tell her.”

Ella Comperton uttered a faint shriek.

“But he was engaged to Mildred Ross! Cherry was going to be a bridesmaid!”

A spark came and went in Rachel’s eyes.

“A little thing like that wouldn’t worry her.”

Ernest Wadlow said nothing. His pince-nez fell off. His mouth fell open.

Miss Silver turned her head to listen. The faint sound which she had caught became a sound which everyone could hear—the clatter of feet on the stair—running feet. The door was flung open and Richard Treherne came half way into the room. He looked for Rachel, and spoke to her in a loud, angry voice.

“She’s gone! Taken her car! She shouldn’t have been left—she wasn’t fit!”

They were all up and round him. Rachel put a hand on his arm, and felt it rigid.

She said “Caroline?” on a mere breath of sound. “Are you sure?”

His face frightened her. He shook off her hand.

“I tell you her car’s gone! And she’s not fit to drive. What’s going on in this house? What have you done to her?”

“Richard,” said Rachel—“please. You must go after her.”

He said violently, “Where? Do you suppose I’d lose a moment if I knew where to go? She gave up her flat last month. Where would she go?”

Miss Silver came forward.

“Where did she garage her car when she was in London?”

Richard flung round.

“I’ll try that. I’ll try and catch her on the road.”

He was gone.

Rachel stood quite still and looked after him. She was aware of Miss Silver leaving the room and going upstairs. Ernest Wadlow went past her, making small nervous sounds of disapproval. It was a relief to feel that Cherry’s elopement would be likely to keep him occupied for the rest of the afternoon. Mabel would certainly be prostrated, and a prostrated Mabel meant an attendant Ernest. Neither of them would have time to think about Caroline.

Caroline—she winced away from the name—Caroline in trouble should have run to her, not away. But she had run away. Why?

Miss Silver was there again, a little out of breath.

“I went to see if she had left a note. There is nothing.”

Rachel looked at her with wretched eyes.

“Why did she go?”

“She knew something, Miss Treherne.”

“How do you know that?”

“She did not deny it. I urged her to speak. She wept, and buried her face in her pillow. I foolishly gave her time to think it over. She has used it to run away. If she is running away she will want to hide herself. Do you know what money she has?”

Rachel shook her head. Her lips were trembling. She caught the lower one between her teeth and held it hard.

“Not much,” said Cosmo Frith. He addressed Miss Silver. “I know she hadn’t much money, because she asked me yesterday whether I could let her have five pounds as a loan.”

“Then she had five pounds.”

“Oh, no—” he laughed a little—“I hadn’t got it myself.”

Miss Silver’s eyes went from him to Rachel.

“Then where would she go—without money?”

Rachel said, “I don’t know.”

Cosmo Frith shook his head.

“With your permission,” said Miss Silver, “I will make a more thorough examination of the room she has been occupying.”

Ella Comperton finished the glass of wine which she had poured out for herself. She put out her hand to the decanter and drew it back again.

“Girls are quite unaccountable,” she said. “Of course nothing that Cherry did would surprise me. I always said that girl would come to a bad end. But Caroline—she seemed quiet enough. As a matter of fact they are often the worst. No manners—running off in the middle of lunch like this and disturbing everyone, though I don’t know why you should look so tragic about it, Rachel. It’s quite obvious to my mind that she and Richard have quarrelled, and that they are now going to make it up. Exceedingly ill bred and mannerless I call it, but no need to be tragic. Well, I shall go to my room and lie down. I don’t seem to get on very fast with all the literature Mrs. Barber has lent me, but I do find it so difficult to keep awake in this strong air.”

Rachel followed her into the hall with Cosmo. He put a kindly hand on her shoulder.

“My dear, for once Ella is right. You take all this too seriously. It’s just a tiff, and Richard will be bringing her back to tea. But I hate to leave you looking like this.”

She turned her head.

“Are you going? I didn’t know.”

“My dear, I must. Poor Lazenby is really very ill. You must have heard me speak of him. Poor fellow—his own enemy, if there ever was one, and I’m about the only friend he’s got left. But I don’t like leaving you.”

Rachel tried to smile. He was probably right. Richard would come back and bring Caroline with him. It was a lovers’ quarrel. There was nothing to be afraid of. But the fear did not move from her heart.

The clang of the front door bell took her back a pace or two into the dining-room. She could not imagine who could be ringing at this hour, but at the sound of Gale Brandon’s voice she came forward with both hands outstretched, so glad to see him that all her reasons for telling him to stay away were scattered and forgotten.

Her hands were taken and held in a grasp that hurt. He said,

“Well, I’m here. Are you going to be angry about it?”

She had tried to smile, but now she did not have to try. She looked up at him with all her heart in her eyes and said,

“I’m glad.”

“The reward of mutiny!” said Gale Brandon. “You told me not to come. I came. You’re glad. What happens to discipline? You’ll never get over with it again.”

They were still holding hands, but at this point a movement from Cosmo Frith attracted their attention. Tact might have indicated a retreat, but men are very seldom gifted with tact. Mr. Frith approached. The hands fell apart. Rachel flushed high and knew a moment of confusion. If it had been anyone but Cosmo. He had been so kind. She would not for the world have hurt his feelings.

But when the moment passed there was no discernible wound. The two men were talking. Cosmo was saying something about Caroline.

“She’s gone off in her car, and Rachel is upset about it—thinks she isn’t fit to drive. She fainted this morning.”

It was all so much in Rachel’s mind that it was only afterwards that she wondered how the subject had come up. She said,

“I’m dreadfully worried, and that’s the truth. She oughtn’t to be driving, and we don’t know which way she’s gone. She hasn’t any money.”

As she spoke, the distress which she had felt before came back like a wave which has retreated only to break with redoubled force. She looked at him piteously, as if for help, and heard him say,

“But we’ll go after her—if you’re worried. She drives a small blue Austin, doesn’t she? If she went through Ledlington, someone will have noticed it. Anyhow we can try. Get your things on.”

The prospect of doing something put heart into Rachel. She nodded, ran upstairs, and was putting on her hat, when she was aware of Louisa behind her looking a good deal like Lot’s wife. She said as briskly as she could,

“My coat, Louisa—the very thick brown one. I’m going after Miss Caroline.”

Louisa did not move. She stood with folded hands and stared at Rachel’s reflection in the glass.

“Can’t you let well alone?” she said. “Them that’s’ gone from this house, they’d stay gone if you’d let them.”

“Louie!”

Louisa Barnet raised her voice.

“And why did they go, Miss Rachel? Answer me that! Because what they’ve got on their conscience wouldn’t let them stay—that’s why. And no wonder. Who was out on the cliff when you was pushed over? Mr. Richard for one, and Miss Caroline for another. And she come in crying, as Gladys could tell you. And three handkerchiefs soaked through in her clothes-basket that I saw for myself. There isn’t no one cries like that but what they’ve brought it on themselves—you can’t get from it. And why did she faint? Will you tell me that, Miss Rachel? No, you won’t. But Miss Ella, she talked of it free enough—said Miss Caroline just sat there like an image and might have been deaf and dumb whilst you was telling how you was pushed over, but when it came to you being asked whether you had a sight of the one that pushed you and you said, ‘No,’ well, right there and then Miss Caroline fainted.”

Rachel stood up and turned round.

“That will do, Louie. You are hardly in a position to accuse other people, you know. I should like my coat.”

This time Louisa brought it. Her hands shook as she held it for Miss Treherne to slip on. And then she caught a fold of it and spoke in a strained whisper.

“Miss Rachel—you’re not going—to send me away?”

Rachel released herself.

“Where could I send you, Louie?”

The dark eyes flashed.

“To my grave. And that’s the truth, for I’d not live.”

Rachel walked towards the door. Just before she reached it she said without looking round,

“You talk a lot of nonsense, Louie. It isn’t kind, and it isn’t helpful. If you want to stay you mustn’t say everything that comes into your head.”

She went out, and found Cosmo waiting for her.

“Rachel—there’s something I’ve’thought of. Can I speak to you?”

She looked at him doubtfully.

“I’ve been too long already—”

“It’s about Caroline.”

She opened her sitting-room door and went in. “Very well.”